A Broken Record Collection
by comeonbabyplaymesomething
Summary: <html><head></head>15 prompts. 15 proposals. Because in New York City, there are infinite ways for our favorite Upper East Side couple to get engaged.</html>
1. Prompt 1: Weddings

**I don't know what exactly inspired this possibly crazy endeavor. Maybe it's the depressing state of Chuck and Blair's current relationship. Or the glimmer of hope offered in next week's promo. Either way I'm excited/terrified to live up to this commitment. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously.**

**Prompt 1**

Weddings

She feels the looks in the small of her back, the heat that radiates from one hundred and eighty nine eyes staring directly at her. It makes her nervous, makes her want to cringe. However, nothing is worse then the grip on her wrists. What was once a desired life raft suddenly becoming a threatening anchor. Dragging her underwater with ever increasing speed.

She knows she should say something. Recite her line like she did last night at the rehearsal. Disregard the ninety three missed calls on her cell phone, the reports of a millionaire harassing Palace employees until the police were called, and Serena's pleading expression as she'd whispered the declaration.

_He just wants to say goodbye._

She closes her eyes, contemplating a life that, until this very moment, had been achingly appealing. A blonde, beautiful husband. A man who has never publicly humiliated her, tried to trade her for a hotel, or made her wait a year for an I love you. A man who has no idea how to spar with her, how to use his own wicked tongue to turn her words and body against her, a man who has never braved the dark depths of her mind and loved her all the more for what he found.

_Blair?_

Her knight in not so shining armor says the name awkwardly. For the past year its been a barrage of sweet hearts and babys and darlings. Her last name and her first have fallen to the wayside. So distant in her mind she's forgotten what they even mean. What they, and the girl they brand, truly stand for. Truly want.

Her dress is too tight. The church too small. Still she doesn't speak. Instead, she turns her head to her golden maid of honor who, to her shock, is smiling broadly. A groomsman too is forcing back a look of triumph. She can't decipher her mother, although Cyrus seems to gleam with pride. Dorota, her daughter in her lap and husband at her side, suddenly bursts into tears of relief.

The engagement ring slips off her finger easily. Always has. She places it in his palm. The least she can do is return the bauble. It never really belonged to her anyway.

_I'm sorry._

She's not. But she'll feign it in order to keep up a sense of propriety. She doesn't want to hurt him. But she can't marry him either. Not if she ever wants to be able to look in a mirror.

Weakling.

It defined her once, and until a second ago she had deserved the label once again. She can't pick a husband so she'll have someone to hide behind. A principle to defend as she says no over and over again. She'd put her faith in him then too. Demanded that he step up and be the man she deserved. The man that loved her too. And this time she's sure he won't disappoint her.

The fabric of her gown whispers around her legs as she turns and walks quickly down the aisle. The church is already erupting in whispers and questions. Her now ex fiancé attempts to follow her. But the groomsman gets in the way. Smoothly laying his hands on the frantic man's shoulders in order to buy his friend more time to escape.

She nearly runs right past him. Rumpled but painfully sober and sitting on the church steps. He regards her as an apparition, a taunting mirage. Not real. The true woman of his dreams is standing at an alter, sealing her fate to a man who probably deserves her more but loves her less. He must be dreaming. She'd smugly vowed to him only a week ago that the combined might of heaven and hell wouldn't be enough halt her impeding nuptials.

But then he feels a sharp pain is his shin. And the look of urgency and indignation is pure Blair Waldorf. Something so unique and clear he couldn't make it up if he tried.

_What the hell are you doing? They're coming._

It's not the plea he'd been expecting. In fact he'd vaguely thought she'd come out here to tell him that security was on their way. But he's not going to object to a dream come true. He's standing before she can land another blow. She's always been stronger then she thinks.

The limo is just across the street. And she laughs, diving into her past and future without looking. Her veil falls off as she hits the leather seat. He helps her undo the hundred little buttons at the back of her dress, unlaces the corset under the fabric, and presses his forehead against the searing hot skin of her left shoulder blade. And when she turns, wrapping herself in his arms like the habit its always been, she can breath again.

She'll look back on it years from now and still not be able to remember which of them spoke as the limo sped off. Only that six months later, when he gets on his knee and hands her a classic, sparkling diamond, she repeats the same question. Her mouth hot against his ear.

_What took you so long?_

**Reviews are love. Suggestions are even better.**


	2. Prompt 2: Funerals

**I definetely had no intention of updating so quickly. But this idea popped into my head and refused to dislodge itself so here's anotherchapter. Don't let the dark propmt discourage you, it's sad but it ends the same way.**

**Prompt 2**

Funerals

It's still early when she knocks on his door. The sun is only just beginning to dip below the New York City skyline. He'd tried not to hope she'd show up. It had been nearly a month and they'd yet to run into each other. She had made no effort to get in touch.

No, it'd be mortifying to admit to even a glimmer a hope. To reveal that the idea of her being in the same city as him after all this time was enough to increase his heart rate. That for twenty three days he's eaten dinner at home. He could come up with a plausible excuse if questioned, but he'd always know the truth, be aware of the weakness.

Eleanor's been in the hospital for weeks. Some sort of heart thing (he knows every detail really). It had been serious enough to bring Blair home on a red eye flight in her husband's corporate jet.

She's a picture. Flawless to the end. She's grown her hair out, dark chocolate curls cascading past her shoulder blades. She's in a dress, deep purple, with black patterned tights, and dark gray heels. Only the best for mommy dearest.

She almost fools him. But there are circles under her eyes, surreptitiously dulling her makeup and her hands flutter awkwardly at her waist as if she has to physically force herself to stop them from balling into fists.

"Why didn't you come?"

A burst of indignation hits his him like a fist, but it's quickly smothered by an intense feeling of weariness. He loves her. Even now, when she expects so much for so little. Displaying the nasty habit she has of always believing he will give her more then he possesses. She is perfect. The only one.

But he can't say it. Has never had that ability. So instead he sighs and drawls smugly, "I didn't think you're husband would have appreciated my presence."

It's a low blow. He knows James hasn't come. Blair's been in the city for three weeks, at times under the assumption he mother wouldn't last the night, and her husband has remained in LA. A city he knows for a fact she hates. Had only moved there because she was a newlywed, a young bride who wanted to pretend she hadn't made a mistake.

He sees their similarities in the way she processes his insult. A flash of anger and then, for the briefest fraction of a second, his own emotions reflected in her eyes. The same sadness, twin voids of exhaustion and longing.

Without asking she glides around him, walking into his room like she still belongs there. She takes in the half eaten dinner, the glass of scotch, and the papers spread wide across his desk. Slowly she turns, taking her time rememorizing a place she used to be able to navigate with her eyes closed. He faces her, studying the almost unnoticeable changes in her expression as she registers the differences in his home since she's been gone. Almost three years.

He'd seen her barely six months ago, at Serena's engagement, but she'd been with her husband then. He had been too drunk to be able to tell if she was happy. His vision too blurry to assess if her smile reached her eyes. She had left the next day. Even though she was the maid of honor. Even though Serena cried. Even though he knew, even if he hadn't really seen her, that she wanted to stay.

"Why are you here Blair?"

She doesn't say anything for a long time, staring as if recalling a memory. And then, completely on impulse, she whirls and starts heading for the bar, "I wanted to get drunk." Slipping out of her heels she navigates behind the counter, purposefully grabbing a bottle of vodka by the neck, "You're still good at that, right Bass?"

Liar. Closing the door and locking it with an audible and meaningful snap he crosses the room in seven strides. "Two choices," he states, his voice low as he pulls the bottle from her grip, "tell me the truth or find you're alcohol elsewhere."

Her eyes glint in the dim light as she studies him. Noting his rooms in The Empire aren't the only things that have changed. He's just as tired of running in circles. She takes a deep breath and holds his gaze evenly as she replies, "I'm here because you sent flowers everyday, because a specialist from Boston appeared at the hospital before I'd requested him, and because when Nate called me twice a day for updates I knew it was really you who was asking."

Her gaze challenges him to tell her different. Hide behind the lies they learned at birth. Defiance was always one of her strengths. But there's hope now too. She wants the right answer. The truth only he can provide.

But he won't admit it for the same reason he didn't go to the hospital: to reveal so much when she has admitted nothing is akin to being the only one naked in a crowded room. Too susceptible, too vulnerable to even contemplate. So he asks her again, begging her to give him the right answer this time.

"You're not one for thank yous. Try again. _Why are you here_?"

The last part is a little louder then necessary. But he is the only one who flinches. She disregards his anger, forgiving his words before they have even finished leaving his mouth.

Her eyes flutter closed, and her knuckles turn white as she grips the bar top, "You're going to get a call soon," she whispers, "from Nate or Serena or Cyrus." Her eyes open, tears glittering like the most flawless of jewels, and he knows what's going to happen next. She can't say it or maybe can't admit it. Instead she manages, "Barely fifteen minutes ago. The doctor said it was almost immediate. That there was no pain."

He remember this scene. A memory replayed over and over, a reminder of their mutual weakness. Only he was the one holding back tears and she was the single thing keeping him from any further fraying at the seams. He wants to say that there is always pain. But it would come out wrong. So instead he steals a page from her playbook.

He approaches her slowly, but when her legs wobble, he's there to wrap his arms around her. Tightly, a plea and promise, like he's never going to let go. Her tears soak his shirt as he leads her to the couch. And it seems to be an eternity until she cries herself to sleep in his grasp. A whole lifetime stretched out across a single night.

* * *

><p>It would have been poetic if he'd woken up with a note on his lap, his head lulled against the arm of the couch and his arms wrapped around nothing. Karmic justice for past sins. But they're older now, and maybe not as similar as he'd originally assumed. Blair is still sleeping when his cell phone alarm buzzes.<p>

He's able to reach backward and turn it off without waking her. Her back is pressed into the couch. She's curved around him, arms around his neck, head bowed against his forehead, leg draped around his waist. Her breathing is steady and it hits his jaw bone in slow, warm spurts. He wants to keep her this way, frozen in this moment. Warm and present, no thoughts of dead mothers or estranged husbands. Before she wakes up and remembers her broken heart, or even worse, wakes up and remembers to walk out the door.

It's five in the morning, he has seventeen missed calls and Blair Waldorf curled against him. Lilly, Serena, Nate, Cyrus, and Harold are concerned. Wondering where she is. There's work to be done and meetings booked months ago with potential investors.

Chuck Bass closes his eyes and falls back asleep.

* * *

><p>She does leave. There are people that need her and plans and arrangements that have to be made for her mother. But the next night she's back, eyes still tired and hands still rigid.<p>

This time she doesn't ask a question, only folds herself against him and catches his lips with her own. They are older now. But they are still Chuck and Blair. And he remembers her with his eyes closed. They get distracted on their way to his bed. First on the couch. Then in the hall. And then on the large plush rug in front of his walk in closet. By the time they hit the mattress she is falling asleep on top of him.

In the morning he presses a key into her hand.

She doesn't like to lose, he knows it's the reason she didn't leave her husband months ago. She hates failure. Suffering is justifiable when it allows her to avoid admitting defeat in such a public way. So he does his best to give her something to gain.

The day before Eleanor Rose is buried Blair Waldorf files a petition for divorce. And then arranges to have her possessions shipped to The Empire. He dutifully has all of his clothing condensed into one side of the closet. When she sees it empty her smile is worth the effort.

Her husband shows up for the funeral. He doesn't make a scene, doesn't say a word when he sees her gripping the hand of another man. He stays for the service but is gone when Blair's mother is lowered into the ground. They don't talk about it. There's nothing to say. That part of her past has nothing to do with their future.

"I love you," she whispers it to him on the ride home. Head lulled on his shoulder, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

They are older now. He is older now. And there are things much worse then being vulnerable. It is much better to say too much then to suffocate in the middle of the night under the weight of all the words you've never spoken. An empty heart isn't worth guarding.

"Stay with me," he replies into her hair, his voice as light as air, "Live with me. Marry me. Grow old with me."

She doesn't blink for a full minute, reacting to his revelation with wide eyes and a open mouth. But you can only stay in limbo for so long, and her smile is wide when she challenges, "What are your conditions?"

He sighs, running a hand through her hair as he contemplates his terms, "That we have a million kids, tons of sex, and that the death do us part of the vows only applies to _me. _You're not allowed anywhere near a pine box while I still have a breath in my body."

They are eternity. A personal forever and always. And she's willing to promise him immortality if it means spending every single second of her life and death with him.

She pauses, pretending to weigh his offer and then answers. A promise and a plea.

"Deal."

**Special thanks to MrChuck, TriGemini, QueenBee10, Italiapen112, and Emma for reviewing. Love it.**


	3. Prompt 3: Pain

**I feel like I haven't delivered any really romantic proposals yet. This one doesn't quite hit the mark but it's better then the two previous installments. Also a little a dark. I'll try to work on that too.**

**Prompt 3**

Pain

He always looks sweeter when he sleeps. His lips soft and hair mussed. His face is relaxed. No sneers or smirks or furtive glances. In this state of vulnerability he is peaceful. On the cusp of a new day and the infinite possibilities it provides.

It almost makes her stay. Almost. But her cell phone is blinking ominously on the nightstand and the sun is rising. She doesn't have possibilities, she has responsibilities.

And none of them involve this boy. Despite what she may have whispered when she stumbled onto his doorstep last night. Drunk on expensive champagne and the success of an important meeting with a potential client.

He didn't make her work for it. Didn't insult or distract. Just pressed her up against a wall and kissed her back hard. She'd smiled against his mouth and closed her eyes. So happy that it was easy. Or that he was.

Dress is slipped into place. Hair pinned up. She can't find her underwear, but she deserves that. She's not supposed to be here. And she should have known it last night too. She has a man she's been debating about calling her boyfriend, and she vaguely remembers some sort of long legged Amazon whose claiming Chuck as her own this week as well.

Any silly things she whispered as they stumbled through his dark penthouse will be blamed on alcohol. Any thoughts of life changing mornings and altered circumstances shrugged off as her own weakness for romanticism. She wants the happy ending but never receives it. And nothing has changed from the dusk she rode in on to the dawn that's chasing her out.

Finally she's presentable. Hand on the doorknob she sends one last look to the bed she's just vacated. And brown bedroom eyes lock on hers, filled with questions she's never been able to answer. She walks through the door and closes it quickly, separates them before she says something she regrets. As usual, the pain returns with near blinding ferocity.

It isn't like it's supposed to be. But nothing has been lately.

* * *

><p>She's good at her job. Great even. Serena was never suited for a career as a publicist. Her blonde, beautiful best friend is too naive to understand the mechanics of creating intrigue. A woman born into fame can never grasp how to generate it.<p>

But Blair knows. As a girl whose worked for everything she's earned, who struggled to keep up with peers who had more money, more power, and easier circumstances she can flawlessly command a spotlight, grab eyes, and steal hearts. She was a conquering Queen, and is now more then willing to share her secrets. For a profit of course.

Images are her business. And there's no way she can taint her own by getting involved with a Bass again. She's been down that road, numerous times, and each implosion was worse then the last. She can't afford to lose anything in the flames anymore.

Her heels click on the tile floor as she approaches her office, she worked her way to corner with a view naturally. Her secretary, Amy, hands her a coffee and reminds her that it's Serena's twenty seventh birthday today. Amy's already sent flowers and a card but when Serena called to say thank you she reminded the woman to tell Blair she's expected at the party Lilly's hosting tonight.

Except that Blair has a client meeting tonight, as Amy so helpfully points out. It's not her most important client, or even one that's highly profitable. But she prides herself on never having canceled a meeting. A streak she doesn't intend to break.

Serena will be disappointed. But Blair will make it up to her eventually. She'll send more flowers. This time with a handwritten card.

* * *

><p>She spends the rest of the day checking press releases and making calls. She also has another doctor's appointment on her lunch break. And her quack of a physician is still unable to identify the ever present pain in her stomach. It doesn't go away when she eats or when she fasts. It is there when she wakes up and when she goes to sleep. She doesn't have cancer or ulcers or any of the other countless maladies she's been tested for.<p>

She just hurts.

She's shrugging into her coat and grabbing her purse at dusk when Holly Henning walks into her office, clutching an ominous paper box filled with pictures and pens.

Holly also comes from a prominent Manhattan family but is three years older then Blair. Who had been Holly's assistant for a year before being promoted. The two women had never been particularly close but Blair's still shocked that Holly's apparently been fired. She was always the one to watch.

"What happened?" Blair asks in what she hopes is a tone that projects sympathy yet detachment. She is not in the mood to be a shoulder for a sobbing coworker. Especially wearing her new, just shipped from Milan pea coat.

"I quit," Holly answers back with a smile, "my boyfriend's getting relocated for his job. It's in France and I'm going with him. Just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

For a minute she wants to laugh. Or at least expects Holly to. The announcement is so absurd that Blair genuinely assumes it's a joke. But there's nothing but sincerity in her now ex coworker's eyes. And she can't help it. It's genuine curiosity when she blurts, "Why?"

Holly blinks, and Blair quickly adds, "I just mean you have a great job, a great apartment, and you're on the fast track at the company. It's not like you're married. Why would you want to leave?"

For a moment Holly doesn't respond but then a bright, serene smile lights up her face, "I used to be just like you. And that is word for word what I would said in the same situation. I _loved _my job. Loved that people knew me when I walked into a room. That they whispered about me, were maybe even a little afraid of me. And for awhile that was enough. But then I started to get this ache, when I would see couples holding hands, kissing on street corners, a mom with her daughter. I would sit in my bed all alone in the middle of the night, and just _ache_. With Logan that doesn't happen anymore. He fixed the part of me that hurt. So yeah I have a nice apartment, a great job, and he's not my husband. But I love him, I want him in my life and to me that's more important then where I work or what people think of me."

Blair stares entrapped as Holly glances down self-consciously, "But maybe you're different. Maybe this can be enough." And then Holly takes a deep breath and remembers herself, a sad smile falling on her lips, "It's been a pleasure to work with you Blair. You were an amazing addition to the staff."

Then she walks out, apple red hair flying in the draft of the hallway. And Blair stands in the middle of her office dumbstruck. The dull pain in her stomach finally identified.

She aches.

* * *

><p>She feels a little like she's losing her religion.<p>

It's the middle of November and she's walking aimlessly around New York. She's five minutes late to a meeting she should have canceled an hour ago. And Serena's birthday bash is most likely just beginning. Her phone keeps vibrating in her coat pocket but her legs went numb half an hour ago so she barely feels it.

She promised herself years ago, when she was sobbing over yet another breakup, that she would be better in the future. Learn to remain impervious to the always impending destruction. She searched for armor, for a shield to keep him at bay. To protect her from herself.

And she succeeded. Immersed herself in networking and power mongering. She had never been successful at personal relationships. The notion of self sacrifice, of selflessness had never held appeal. She had loved and been loved, but there were limits, constraints. Obstacles that always seemed impenetrable at the time.

Darkness has fallen and the city has been to glow. She wants to get lost in the crowd but has never had that luxury. She knows where she is. New York City is as familiar as her own reflection. And she can't lose herself despite the overwhelming urge to disconnect.

There is no escape. She knows the right answer. She closes her eyes, coming to the only decision she could have. Without looking she heads towards her destination. The thud of her heart a welcome distraction from the pain in her chest.

* * *

><p>Serena beams when Blair shows up two hours late to her birthday party. The blonde breaks away from her conversation to run over to her best friend and wrap her in a tight hug, whispering thank yous and good to see yous. It's been two weeks since they've seen each other, and the realization stings like tears in her eyes. She clings to Serena for too long but then wanders off after only a murmured apology. She's searching, running on probably false faith and a misguided assumption about his notion of family.<p>

She's about to give up hope. To drown her sorrows in strong liquor instead of with a strong willed boy. But then she finds him, like always. He's sitting outside Serena's bedroom on the patio with a predictable glass of scotch. They're taking on the frigid winter night together. He's alone. Thank God. She doesn't know if her pride could handle a run in with his model of the week.

She left her coat at the elevator so she doesn't join him. Only opens the door and sticks her head out, self preservation trumping vanity. The noise from the party below nearly muffles her voice as she whispers, "Come in and talk to me?"

It's a request not an order, but he's stubborn just the same, "You didn't want to talk this morning."

She rolls her eyes, but tonight she's the one that's sorry so she relents, "I didn't then. I do now. Come inside," a breath, and then, "Please."

He saunters in like it's some sort of burden. But it's a blessing, because all too soon they are on opposite sides of the room and he's looking at her expectantly. She remember he can't read her mind, and the prospect of telling him how she feels is maddening. How can she express the barrage of emotion she herself can't even begin understand?

It's never been easy. But nothing worth having is ever simple to earn. She takes a deep breath and tries, "Do you remember Serena's accident? When we sat in that hospital hallway and I told you that you were strong. That feeling wasn't a weakness?"

He's cast in shadow, but she can see him clearly, every single inch. "I do," he answers evenly, he wonders if she can tell he's holding his breath.

"I'm a hypocrite," she states calmly, wringing her hands as she continues, "Completely and totally. I said that to you and then made the same exact mistakes. I hid in work. I avoided the people I love because I thought that it would make me better, give me an edge. I fooled myself into thinking I was building myself a life. But I'm all alone. And I don't want to be. Pushing you away doesn't make me strong. It just makes me hurt."

He doesn't smile. But his arms are tight against her waist and that's all the reassurance she needs. They could have been standing there for hours. She has no perception of time. It comes to a screeching halt only after he pulls the small, velvet box from his pocket and places it in her palm.

She is silent. Couldn't form words if she tried. It's his turn. "I've had that for a long time," is all he can manage.

"Yes," she says a split second later. Staring up at him, flush with gratitude. Falling is always so much easier when there's someone there to catch you.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly but then he smirks and it's as smooth as ever, "I thought you were going to take some convincing."

She shrugs out of his grasp, all too willing to play this game. "That's fine," she concludes, taking a seat on the bed behind her and smiling up at him expectantly, "Convince me."

When he gets on his knee all notions of sport retreat. This is hardly a game, it's forever she's playing with now. His voice is soft, his eyes dreamy when he begins obligingly, "You're beautiful and smart and deceptively kind. I want you in my life. Now. Always. We're stronger together then we'll ever be apart. And I love you. Now. Always. Only you."

She doesn't know when she started to cry. Just that her tears drip on his hands when he whispers the finale, as vulnerable and peaceful as he was this morning, "Marry me?"

She smiles, bowing her head so they're eye level, she kisses him once and then whispers decisively, "Yes."

When he slips the ring on her finger it is a moment years in the making. And she feels feather light, in a body that is much too content to ever again feel the ache of longing. There is no more talk of wanting to be lost.

She is _finally_ found.

**Thanks to TriGemini, QueenBee10, caitlinc1991, 88Mary88, thegoodgossipgirl, City Lights Agleam, AquarianAir, Comet Tail, Temp02, and zayasXamong. Because reviews are always super exciting to find in my inbox. **


	4. Prompt 4: Shot Gun

**Given that the last two GG episodes have been beyond brutal, I was in a bit of a redemptive mood for this one. Because those two need a bit of work in my opinion. Anyway, hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Prompt 4**

Shot Gun

She'd gotten what she deserved. She can honestly say it. Because blatant stupidity was a side effect of involvement. Punishment for a crime she'd long stopped feeling guilty for. It's not like she hadn't known what she was getting into. There were so many options, so many ways to stop herself from reaching this point.

Sitting in a doctor's office getting told she was four weeks along. Which meant something so dizzying she was beginning to think that along with being knocked up, she was going blind. She makes the alleged MD repeat the words five times, because it's the only way it will sink in. Baby is not a word she planned to employ this early in her life.

At twenty five she's on the verge of having it all together. Except for the casual sex she can't seem to stop having with her best friend's step brother, she's pretty respectable. Good job. Better penthouse. A standing invitation to join the board of any charity she damn well pleases.

For a split second she considers her options. Abortion. Adoption. Acceptance. Her decision is immediate and certain.

She could pretend it's because of belief or propriety or fear. But there is only one thing that enters her mind as she contemplates choices in that bare and sterile room. A terrifyingly small, pink bundle with dark hair and darker eyes. Fresh to the world and full of promise. Hope to parents who have so little.

* * *

><p>After her appointment, brunch with Serena is predictably terrible. The girl chokes on her mimosa when Blair finally manages to spit out her news. Her blue eyes grow as wide as saucers as she whispers the proverbial insult to unwed mothers everywhere, "Whose the father?"<p>

Blair wants to reach across the table and mar her best friend's face with a red handprint. Because that's the _last thing _she wants to talk about. Although, her promiscuity and Chuck Bass have always been unmistakably connected. She swallows her violent impulses and instead manages sarcastic control, "I'm devastated. So who do you think?"

Serena cuts it close again when her face falls, "Oh B, I thought you were really over him this time." She reaches over and laces their fingers together and in an instant Blair veers from pissed to trembling with relief. She has Serena, will always have Serena. And that is so much better then nothing.

She takes a cab to his building next. She figures she's going to be a mom, better at least start pretending to be an adult.

* * *

><p>His office is predictably chic, steel and leather everywhere. She's ready to leave before she even arrives. Her skin crawls with nerves. There have always been so many variables with Chuck. For a man who claims to be untouchable, he's always had so many very pressable buttons.<p>

She supposes all she can hope is that one of his family members hasn't fucked with him this week. And that _is_ her wish when his secretary, who knows her by name, ushers her into his sprawling rooms. Where he sits at his desk with a newspaper and a steaming cup of something. She hopes not booze, as it's only noon.

She remembers very distinctively crawling out of his bed in the morning only a week ago, and knows that he's remembering it too when he smirks and asks what he can do for her.

She doesn't have the energy for small talk. And they'd ceased with pleasantries pretty much five minutes after being introduced. "I'm pregnant," she hates that her voice is soft and low, as light and inconsistent as a feather tangling in the wind.

She should start anticipating beverages when making this announcement. Chuck makes a similar sound to Serena as he struggles to swallow his (hopefully) coffee, "That's not funny." But there's pleading in his eyes. They both want her to be joking.

But she's not. So serious it's making her hands shake. And she looks him straight in the eye and retorts calmly, "Good, because I _wasn't_ kidding." She takes a breath, "It's yours obliviously. If there was any doubt I would have most certainly spared myself this indignity."

He blinks. Several times. In fact she figures it's at least three minutes before he ceases to stare at her blankly. Then he is back with a vengeance, perfectly controlled when he answers her statement with an, "Okay."

Of all the scenarios she's been running in her head, immediate acceptance had never been one of them. She'd at least expected to be questioned on paternity. It's her opportunity to be wide eyed, "_Okay_?"

He shrugs, like it's nothing. Like she'd just told him the sun was shining or the sky was blue. "It's not an ideal time," he pauses, considering, "but a life with you, kids with you, it's always been apart of the plan."

"What _plan_ have you been following?" She asks incredulously, an eyebrow cocked with amusement and annoyance. She's childish but, given their history, her question drips with validity.

He rolls his eyes at her. And after that they fall into an old routine. A study in veiled insults and false indifference. She's keeping it but she doesn't want anything from him. Doesn't expect a thing. But he's not willing to be shut out so easily. Details are exchanged and she consents to discuss the situation further. Dinner on a Tuesday. Which as much an insult as she can manage under the circumstances. By the time she leaves she's ready to tear her hair out with frustration.

She slams the door. And it's good for him because its been hard to suppress his smile. To stop the shock and excitement. Blair with a baby. Blair with _his_ baby. He had never thought about it before. But now he couldn't seem to stop.

The smiling is equally hard to control.

* * *

><p>"We should get married."<p>

They're at lunch. Platonic. Because no matter how many meals, nights, or doctor's appointments they share she refuses to classify them as _dating_.

She doesn't hesitate, spearing a piece of pineapple as she answers with a definitive, "No."

He doesn't respond, but his eyes tell her she needs to elaborate. So she does, in an organized fashion. She's all about lists theses days. "One, there's not enough time to plan a suitable wedding before I balloon to whale proportions. And two," she hesitates, because breaking hearts is his specialty, "This baby is overwhelming enough. I can't be responsible for you too right now."

She knew it would bruise, that he would hurt. But of course it's worse then expected, he always prides himself on his flawless restraint. But she knows better. Their control is a sham. Underneath the ice and intelligence they are equally broken and bleeding. Jagged pieces ready to cut themselves out at a moments notice.

His eyes blaze, "_Responsible_?"

She's getting better at this. Staring him straight in the eye and telling the truth. And for the life of her she can't remember why she'd ever been so afraid to do it before. She refuses to back down, "I don't know if you're capable of what this would require Chuck. If you could be satisfied with coming home at five every day and spending the night with me and a child. No drinks. No drugs. No girls. Just you, me, and a screaming baby."

"You paint such a pretty picture," his voice is soft. He hardly expected a rude awakening to follow his proposal. But she makes more sense then he's willing to admit.

"I'm being _practical_," she amends, "It's time to face reality. This can't be like before, _we_ can't be like before. Games, lies, drama. This baby deserves better, and I _want_ to give it better. So I think it'd be easier for all involved if we just went slow. If you were here as much as you want to be, as much as you _can be_. Just take it a step at time and see where we are when the baby's born."

They finish the meal in silence. He's pissed. But he's also a little proud. Because he's a fuck up, but she's not. And he can't help but realize that the words "deserves better" applies to both baby and mother.

* * *

><p>The nursery in her penthouse is baby boy blue. And there is nothing more terrifying then it's crib and all of the implications the piece of furniture carries. She knows nothing about little boys. Couldn't understand despite infinite hours of agonizing. Boys destroyed her, broke her heart, left her again and again. And she can't help but fear that her son will leave her with similar scars.<p>

Serena finds Blair sitting in the mahogany rocking chair in the middle of the night. The blonde is living there. Because she's single and practical. But also because Blair's wary of playing house with Chuck but still can't bare to go through any of this alone.

S is in a glittering gold party dress and sways under the effects of just a bit too much Cristal. She's sober enough to be concerned though. She's found Blair spacing out in this room one too many times.

She slips out of her heels and walks over to kneel in front of her best friend, gold fabric falling in front of her like a glinting waterfall, "B, what's wrong?"

Blair doesn't answer for a long time, eyes wet and mouth dry, her voice cracks when she finally manages, "Were you relieved, Serena? When your parents got divorced? Was it so much easier to have them apart then together and miserable? Or was it worse? To know that they loved you and loved each other, but that it just _wasn't_ enough?'

Serena is smart enough to know that Blair's questions don't always need answers. She's continuing after only a brief second of contemplation, "He comes to every appointment, every birthing class. He's sweet and kind and _there_. And every single day when my mother calls or a woman looks at me sideways at lunch I think about how much easier it would be to just say yes. To marry him and figure every thing else out later." She runs a violent hand over her face, because sorrow and terror is the last thing she wants to feel in this room, in this body now built for two.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to B," Serena declares, her voice low.

"Oh but I do," Blair's voice is loud in the muted room, but it doesn't stop her, "I have to gain twenty pounds and buy all new clothes. I have to deal with swollen ankles and breasts pumps. With Lamaze and no caffeine. And I have to deal with the unreliable father of my baby proposing every other week."

Deep breath, "I love him so much. But I hate him too. And I'm just so confused S. And so, _so _scared."

Serena's eyes are puppy dog big when she promises, "You have time to figure it out."

* * *

><p>But she doesn't.<p>

Christian Nathanial Bass is born two months premature, weighing in at just under four pounds. And it is the most frightening thing Blair's ever gone through. They'd warned her about complications, about soreness and pain and medication. But no one had ever told her about the moment she'd see her baby. The tiny, squalling mass of pink skin who blinked and stared and _devastated_ her. Her pregnancy had been abstract, a thought and conviction. Christian was reality, and she was addicted from the very first second.

For the first week he is a mass of tubes. She can only touch him by sticking her sterilized hands through a hole in his plastic incubator. Chuck doesn't enter the nursery for three days, pacing the length of the windows and watching her the whole time.

But on day four Nate takes his godfather duties in his own hands and Chuck dons a gown and takes a seat next to her. "Finally," she whispers softly. It's both an insult and a sigh of relief.

He wants to apologize. But she wouldn't care. It's easy to say sorry after you're done causing destruction. And it would take too much time to list all his sins.

Instead he orders her to go home and sleep. She's been in this room for two days straight and has slept a combined total of six hours since she went into labor. She outright refuses at first. But persistence and Eleanor eventually prevail. And for the first time in his four day life Christian Bass is alone with his father.

He wouldn't call it an epiphany. Only that his son's tiny, helpless form reminds him a little too much of Bart Bass and all the mistakes and anger he represents even now. But Bart had never had a Blair. A woman who'd taught him to feel and would now help him learn to be a parent.

Whatever she asked in return was more then worth the reward. Because being stuck with her and all the screaming kids they could create sounded better then anything he'd ever done is his life. The picture they'd paint wouldn't be pretty, it would be spectacular. Everything she'd earned. Everything this baby, his baby, _their_ baby, deserved.

* * *

><p>A year to the day she found out about her son Blair finds herself in another doctor's office. This time clutching a decidedly blue blanket. A flawless, six month old infant staring up at her. His dark hair curling across his forehead and his darker eyes blinking up at his mother.<p>

She holds him tight. He's crawling now and the last thing she needs is him to pick up some horrible germ on the floor of the pediatrician's. Whose just come back with good news. Christian, who'd spent the first three weeks of his life in an incubator, is perfectly on track for development.

Although the doctor doesn't need to tell Blair, who knew he was perfect from the very beginning.

She meets Chuck at the park for lunch, because they do that a lot these days, and relays the good news. He smiles, and it's different. She's an adult, a mother. And now he is too.

He comes home at six, turns his cell phone off on Sundays, and says not a word when formula spills on his designer suits. He spends half his evenings on the floor with Chris (she'd honestly thought she was hallucinating the first time she saw him get on his knees on the hardwood) and the other part talking to her.

He slips up sometimes, gets frustrated or confused. Says the wrong thing. But so does she. And no matter what, he's there. She can call him and know that he'll answer, that he'll come through for her and his son no matter what. And that is so much better then nothing.

She leans back against the park bench, watching the ducks with her head on his shoulder as their son sleeps in his thousand dollar stroller. "Ask me again," she whispers.

He looks down. Because it's been six months and he hasn't prodded once. That's not his style anymore. He's been happy with this, glad enough to watch it all enfold. Now _she_ has to demand more. So she repeats, "Ask me again."

And he does, with a smile, "Marry me?"

Consent slips off her tongue easily. She'd gotten her son from saying yes to him, and now she would seal all of their futures, "Of course."

**Thanks to: TriGemini, 88Mary88, lisottina81 (x3), Comet Tail, Temp02 **


	5. Prompt 5: Stuck

**So the finale was equal parts heartbreaking and satisfying. And this is my take on how it would end if it was a perfect world. Skipped over the cliffhanger pregnancy scare though. Because it's too crazy to speculate about and my last prompt was baby centric.**

**Prompt 5**

**Stuck**

She would kill him if she could. If there wasn't a camera staring down both of them this very second she'd wrap her manicured fingers around his neck and _squeeze_. Because he deserves it, but also because that smirk stopped being endearing five years ago. She wants a real smile now.

She blinks, tries to concentrate. Because she's stuck in an elevator with her recently regained nemesis and Serena is barking some sort of instruction. Her voice is abstract as it comes through the speaker, full of static instead of its usual charming qualities. And without hesitation Blair adds her best friend to her hit list as well.

She eases off her heels as Chuck turns angrily towards the camera and accuses, "Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?"

Serena's retort is filled with amusement and in her head Blair can see the scene perfectly. A beaming but serious blonde facing an equally stern and beautiful brunette boy as they watch their victims through a corner camera. She winces at the inevitability of the answer, "Not so fun being on the other side of the doors is it?"

Of course Blair remembers being in a familiar situation with her best friend only a few years ago. Because she's the kind of girl who holds a grudge. Who fights publically and without mercy. And who's most brutal to her friends, the people she claims to love. She's a schemer and formerly proud of it. And that's why she's in this elevator. Again. Because she deserves any punishment she gets.

Nate, as usual these days, is the voice of reason and his tone is clear and firm as he takes over instructions. "You two need to get it together," he clarifies, "We're sick of playing mediators. So you're not getting off this elevator until you make peace. No treaties, no clauses, no bullshit. Just talk to each other and figure it out."

Blair sighs and leans her head back against the wall. They'd been arguing in the middle of a reception for her mother's spring line. She could hardly remember about what, even though it had only been a few minutes ago. Their fights were really only ever about one thing.

Her bare feet dig into the carpet as she slides down the wall. There is no more anger, no more struggle. There are so many things she'll never understand. And one, the most important, is why it all ends up coming back to him.

They sit there for an hour, silent and staring. His jacket lies in a neatly folded pile next to her heels. He watches her with lidded eyes. Hers are shut, because in such a small space there are only so many places you can look. And right now she can't bear to see his face.

Finally she can't help it. Can't stand it a second longer and the words slip out like an exhale. "We're so young," she whispers. And feels like it's to herself, but of course it's for him too, "But I feel so old. So old, and _so_ tired."

His hair is messy because his hands are restless and he doesn't have the words to deal with her right now. Because technically he's only been allowed to purchase alcohol for a few months, but he's wanted to spend the rest of his life with her since he was seventeen. And he doesn't know how, he doesn't know why, he only knows that it's true. That she is the light at the end of the tunnel. The breath of fresh air. And all the rest of the sentimental garbage he never thought he'd believe in.

So he stares at her blankly and waits for more. Because she _always_ has more. And she doesn't disappoint when finally she adds scathingly, "Just because I'm not with him doesn't mean I should be with you."

He has something to say about that. About her broken engagement and all that it implied. Because she'd swept back into his life like nothing had changed. Not a word about her jilted prince or her broken dreams of royalty. Only a flash of a ruby red smile and a quip to go with her black coffee after a three month absence. Her diamond nowhere in sight. Not that he minded. But not knowing why was driving him _insane_.

His voice is hollow and dry but he manages to get the question out. And he can only pray to get an answer he likes, "I let you go. Why did you come back?"

God if she knew. If she could explain in words why every second she was away she had felt the distance like a physical weight. How even though they were thousands of miles apart she could still feel his presence as if he was standing right next to her. And why, most of the time, she had wished he was.

She hated him. Hated his indifference. The calculated way he pretended not to care. And of course the moments when the façade dropped, but always just a heartbeat too late. He played games she could never win. But she was always in love with him. No matter what. For better or worse. Hopelessly, perpetually in love with him. And she resented it, fought it, but it was _always_ there. And denying it was just as tiring as living with it.

And between the rock and hard place she would always choose him. His darkness and latent lightness. Because that she understood. She could handle mood swings and evil plans, because that was what she herself was built for. How she was raised and how she had lived.

She had tried to make her fairy tale a reality. Had forced herself to feel at ease around Louie's cheerful relatives and kind advisors. But it wasn't the kingdom she was used to, and she felt it in every bit of her body. The pain and longing of a leader displaced. The ache of a glass slipper that didn't quite fit. She may be a princess, maybe even a queen. But she wasn't _his_ queen. And it had been a harsh truth she had been forced to face. Because she was cruel, but not so much that she was willing to let a good man fall even more in love her. Just so she could pretend for a few more weeks that her life hadn't been decided four years ago in the backseat of a speeding limo. That she didn't close her eyes and know completely that this_ wasn't _where she belonged.

She tilts her head and stares at him. Her eyes calculatingly blank. She couldn't deny that she'd fallen even more in love with him when he'd released her. Told her to go and be happy. And she _had_ tried. But happy isn't the same as content. As satisfied and sure and inevitable. And it was so frustrating to know how the story was going to end before she was even halfway through it. But she did. Felt the certainty like the pulse under her skin.

"I want to stop loving you," she confesses, trying to memorize the exact shade of his eyes right before they break from hers in annoyance, "I try so hard. But it's always there."

"So what do you want me to do Blair," his voice is desperate, his face drawn tight. He's a boy confessing to butterflies, to liking her in a way he shouldn't. A man holding flowers and macaroons and stockings confessing to love he's felt since he'd first watched her dance for him on a dimly lit stage. He is stuck too. And she realizes for the first time he'd never asked for this either. They were partners in crime. And both had stepped off the ledge and took the plunge before they knew any better.

His eyes are bright as he continues, "How can I fix it?" Because that's all he's ever wanted. To make her better. He's never known how to heal himself, but he'd give up everything to mend the part of her that's broken. That had been shattering long before they'd ever even met.

She looks at him angrily and he's forced to admit his oversights. How many times he's had a hand in her broken hearts. And he sees the memories she can forgive but never forget reflected in her eyes. He'd been the better man one night. But the enemy on countless other occasions.

"You can't," she snaps petulantly. But after a moment she softens, looks up at the ceiling, "There's nothing to be done. I'm hopeless."

Doomed is a harsher way to put it he thinks. Doomed as much to him as he is to her. And he's sorry for it. But also a little glad. He's never experienced unconditional love before, and he's so lucky that she's stuck with him. Because he hadn't known how he was going to bear watching her get married on television.

"I try," he pleads, more to justify it to himself then to her, "I want to be better for you. I hope you know that. That I wish I came close to deserving you. To being the man you need. That if you let me I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it all up to you."

She closes her eyes, because he's all about promises but never action. And she's sick of watching him fall short. She decides to let him off the hook, "It's not all your fault. I let all of it happen to me. I step into your darkness because it's easier then dragging you out."

But she's not paying attention. She's missed the direction he's headed, her fate hurtling towards another ending and a new beginning once again. He smiles and requests, "So stop. And let's find balance together. A compromise we can both live with. Because you're right, we're young. But I want to grow up with you and I want to grow old with you. I don't want to spend my life figuring out how to live without you when I could be learning how to live with you."

And the ring gets thrown into her lap while her eyes are still looking anywhere but him. But Serena's, "Whoa," over the intercom pretty much sums it up. She forgets to breath. And her heart begins to lose its rhythm.

"I can't promise it will be easy. That we won't fight or hurt each other or even hate each other. But I love you and that is one thing I _can_ promise you will never change," he can't say the question. It won't come out of his mouth. He's practiced it in his head over and over a million different ways at a million different times. But now, as her eyes jump from him to the ring rapid fire, he can't help but plead with her to meet him half way. To complete him and compliment him as she's been doing since the very beginning.

And she can't think. Can't form a single, coherent thought. Because she knows she should say no. That she would be crazy to bind herself to a man she fantasizes about killing. Who she hates almost as much as she loves.

But there is only one answer she's ever had for that proposal. One word she'll ever say. And it was decided a million years ago, between a boy and a girl who knew better, but gave in anyway.

She slips the ring on her finger and it fits perfectly.

"Yes."

**Thanks to QueenBee10, LowerCase32, TriGemini, pty, AquarianAir, Comet Tail, MrChuck, 88Mary88, Temp02, and lisottina81. Your reviews make me smile.**


	6. Prompt 6: Brooklyn

**This is my take on a potential Dair relationship. Hopefully this illustrates how much I am NOT a fan of them being anymore then friends. Sorry in advance.**

**Prompt 6**

**Brooklyn**

It's not the first time, and she's sure it won't be the last. He falls into her lap like a child. Bruised but no worse for the wear. He smells like scotch and cigars. And she wishes it didn't make something inside of her clench. But if her wishes were ever granted, she wouldn't be in this part of town, at this time of night, picking up a boy who wasn't hers, but wasn't anyone else's either.

He turns his head, and their lips are only a moment apart, "Don't you have a boyfriend?" He's wasted and the words are slightly slurred but she's so pathetic that she notices every individual eyelash as he looks up at her through them. She has enough propriety to visibly wince. Her internal guilt is quickly squashed though. Dan's in Brooklyn studying, and this lonely boy needs her more tonight anyway.

He started it. The comeback slips out before she can employ a filter. She's always had control issues around him, "If you weren't so talkative they wouldn't have known to call me."

She's sadistic and she regrets the words almost immediately. It's selfish to reveal the part of her that likes that he talks about her when he's drunk. Finally admits to wanting her still after all his inhibitions are stripped away. She shoves him off of her and into the next seat. But he milks the drunk thing and leans his head on her shoulder. She lets him, but has to bite her lip to keep herself from leaning into his touch.

He doesn't respond to her insult and she's grateful. She doesn't want to defend herself, just to take him home and throw him in a shower. Sober him up and send him off. A routine. She was always good with those.

When they reach her building she is infinitely glad that Serena is staying with Nate a lot these days. They'd survived her foray into Brooklyn, but just barely. And most of it had to do with the fact that S had been with Archibald for going on a year now. And after graduation in a few weeks she was pretty much guaranteed to be getting a Vanderbilt diamond.

She just couldn't stand the thought of getting any sort of judgmental look from her best friend when she stumbled in with her Bass yet again. Because it was hard not to laugh whenever Serena decided to mount a high horse. Blair had seen the girl go home with one too many a stockbroker to take anything she said about discretion seriously. Serena knew all about indulgence but nothing about those who cleaned up after it. She liked to have fun but never thought of consequences or ex-boyfriends too drunk to operate their iPhones properly.

And like it or not, and mostly she didn't, he was Blair's burden. And no matter how many other frogs she kissed (whether they turned into princes or published authors) he was one she would never get out of her system. A habit much too hard to quit. And when he called, she would come. Because she detested him most of the time. But he was the biggest part of her world, and a danger to him often felt as much of a threat to her.

"How opposed would you be to some hair of the dog," he drawls on their ride up the elevator.

"You're drunk," she sighs, arms crossed tightly across her chest, "not hung over." She's becoming bored of this act. She's mad and tired and doesn't have the energy to play along tonight.

"But not enough to deal with my hypocritical step sister, judgmental best friend, or your doting hermit," he counters, head tilting to look at her out of the corner of his eye.

"No one's home," she mutters, thanking every God she knows that the elevator releases them at that moment.

"How convenient," he replies lecherously, "Trying to take advantage of me in my vulnerable position Waldorf?" His eyebrow kinks, but he really loses any sort of credibility when he nearly topples over her coffee table.

She snorts, a breach of protocol. She's usually better at embodying detachment. But she can't help herself, its false innocence in her voice as she questions, "What kind of person would I be if I let you choke on your own vomit in the back of your limo?"

"Ruthless," he murmurs back, a hint of accusation in his tone, "you're losing your edge."

"I'm evolving," she snaps, grabbing his jacket lapel and dragging him into her bedroom, "Becoming better. Reaching a higher plane."

"Is that what we're going for this week," he inquires as she unknots his tie, "Personal growth? How bad did Brooklyn make you feel about yourself before he induced that epiphany?"

She ignores him, because a Dan rant is something she can handle, a familiar part of the repetition. But alcohol always makes him bold and before she can retreat into Serena's room he cups her face and forces her to look at him. "You really should wake up Waldorf. Because when picking up your inebriated ex from a dive bar is the highlight of your week, something about your life needs to change."

They're all alone in her bedroom. And he's more than a little drunk. But he'd never hurt her, and she's knows it. So she's sarcastic as she answers, "Sage wisdom from a Bass? Just because you're miserable doesn't mean everyone else is."

"No," one hand brushes a piece of hair from her face, "Just you."

"I'm happy with Dan," she asserts, but she's flustered and they both notice the weakness.

"Liar," he hisses as she slides his coat of his shoulders.

"I know it's easier to pretend I'm miserable then admit I could be happier with someone else," she's done with his clothes. He can take off his own shoes. Now she's just pushing it cause he's pissed her off, "Dan understands me."

"Yes, but only the pieces that aren't important. That don't even come close to equaling the sum of the whole," he argues. And she opens her mouth to say more but it's a lost effort. Because his lips are already on hers. Hands in her hair and body taking a step forward to pin her against the wall. She gives as good as she gets, a reflex from countless past encounters. And something else too, an ache that grows with each passing second as the blind heat of their skin remains in contact.

He hasn't kissed her like this in years. And he knows he's only got this one chance. Because he used up his second, third, and fourth years ago. His voice is hoarse when she finally pulls away, "Marry me."

It's not the reaction he expects. But then he supposes if anyone had dreamed about flowers and lights and bended knees it would be Blair. Fury flames in her eyes immediately. He's too hazy to understand the details. But she's firm as she states disgustedly, "You're drunk."

"As if it wasn't obvious," he counters.

"Sleep it off Chuck," she practically spits, "And stop asking me questions you don't mean."

She almost reaches the door, but he's surprisingly strong for someone so trashed. And he stops her right before she can close the barrier in his face, "Just because you can't handle the request, doesn't mean I don't mean it."

And then he slams the door for her.

* * *

><p>It's the middle of the night. And the full moon falls through her curtains and lights his face in an eerie glow. It is mesmerizing, and she finds herself transfixed. Staring at him with tired eyes so exhausted from the same routine.<p>

He wants to marry her. And it would stupid to try and fool herself into thinking she'd never known. That his intentions hadn't been clear since she was nineteen, standing destroyed in the middle of a hotel lobby. She'd known he'd fought for their ring. Almost died for it. The stupid jewel he'd thought would make it all better.

But it never had. And they'd given up years ago. When she'd fled and found safety in a lesser borough. When she'd discovered a kindred spirit, a man who liked all of her dead poets and artists and filmmakers. Who dreamed in old movie sequences and quoted obscure Shakespeare in his sleep.

Chuck had been disgusted. But she had hardly cared. Status stopped mattering to her when she saw how it tainted even the best of men. How power, and the desire for it, turned people cruel. Twisted and broke them down. And she was one of its victims. There was no denying that.

But with the freedom of Dan, also comes the responsibility. The inevitability of the con for the pro. Because he may understand her love of Audrey Hepburn but he has no idea how to tie a bow tie or speak with authority to a staff member. He doesn't understand the complex relationship she has with her parents or how to tell a good breeding smile from a genuine one. In his eyes she will always be a poor little rich girl. Complaining about problems that are never genuinely important. Because she has money. And people who don't assume it can solve all the world's problems.

She's frustrated. With each of her boys. Each so perfect in polar opposite ways. And loving them both simultaneously is exhausting. No one wins in the equation. Especially her. Because there is always a decision to make. A heart to break.

There can only be one winner. But she doesn't know. She spends her days with Dan and her nights cleaning up Chuck. Pleasure. Pain. She's so screwed up she can't figure out which is which.

So she goes on impulse. And the sheets are cool as she slides into bed next to him. Fully clothed. And planning on staying that way. But when his arms slip around her waist it's exactly like a sigh of relief. Her body relaxes like a rubber band released from tension. She'd forgotten, or maybe repressed, how completely safe she feels wrapped up next to him. Still and warm. Invincible as long as he keeps holding on.

So later, when his mouth is hot against her neck and his hand slides up her night gown, all she can do is let it happen. Grip his back and try not to melt into the mattress. Because he's always been so good at this. A perfect rhythm to match the beat of her heart. A fit so flawless they might as well be puzzle pieces.

She has a boyfriend, but maybe she shouldn't. And she used to know better, could list the reasons why this is the stupidest thing she's ever done. But right now she can't think of any of them. Not a single reason to say no. So she doesn't.

* * *

><p>She sleeps through her alarm clock and wakes up with him spread across her like a blanket. Warm from the rising sun and completely bare. His breath smells like death but his skin is sweet. And she stays perfectly still, face buried in his shoulder, until he begins to stir above her.<p>

He lets her go. Mostly because of the horrid pounding in his head, but also because he's well aware you can't force a Waldorf to do anything. Stubborn in denial, but also stubborn in love. So he can't completely resent her for it.

"You don't think I remember asking," he asserts to her bare back. Appreciating the view before she slips on her delicate silk robe.

She stares at him incredulously over her shoulder for the briefest of seconds. Then crosses the room to assess the damage in her vanity, answering coolly, "I was _hoping _you didn't remember."

He can't let her off the hook. Not when he's_ so_ close. So he decides to go with what's worked in the past. Total and complete honesty. Despite the maddening terror it causes his already very weathered heart.

"Do you how much it takes," he questions up at the ceiling; his fingers blinding tracing the stitching on her thousand thread count sheets, "for me to ask you that? How excruciating it's been to admit everything I have to you over the years?"

His head jerks to face hers in the reflection of mirror. His eyes so bright and clear it's hard to believe he was stumbling around her apartment the night before. "How many people have you loved in your life Blair," his voice isn't accusatory but curious, and he begins to list, "Dorota, Eleanor, Cyrus, Harold, Nate, Serena…"

He pauses but holds eye contact, he's done with subtle. Sometimes she just needs to be blindsided, "There's more. But for me, it's you. Just you. In my whole life I've only ever genuinely loved one single person. And I don't do it right," the admission is soft, because there is so much history and frustration packed into their relationship, "I know that. Maybe I'll never figure it out. But I'll also never try to change you. I'll always understand you. And I'll never make you ashamed. Because you may love me despite my flaws, but I love you _for_ yours."

For a few moments she doesn't know what to do. Still as a statue, leaning precariously with one hand bracing herself on the vanity and the other fluttering undecided at her swollen collarbone. An unthinkable revelation, a declaration she'd thought beyond his capabilities, and all before nine in the morning. He's hungover and she's overtired. But it is also the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to her. And so beautiful she bursts into tears right there in her bedroom. And he looks _completely_ horrified.

She's not a pretty crier and the tears aren't dainty. She sobs with happiness, with hatred, and with immense relief. Because she is constantly confused, but he always seems to understand what she needs to hear. The perfect action necessary to save her from herself. And she'd forgotten how it felt for someone to know her completely. To be aware of every single treacherous, insecure, and spiteful thought in her head and to want her still. All of her and nothing less.

It's too much. Always has been. Overwhelming and inappropriate and just _excessive_, but it's also not going away. And she's sick of being miserable and misunderstood.

His fingers wrap around her wrists and draw her hands away from her face. His face is tight with grief, with the answer he thinks he's going to hate. He detests making her cry, is ashamed of how often it happens. "I'm sorry," he whispers, wiping the tears off her red, wet face, "I get it now. I'll stop asking."

"You're going to have to," she snaps, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his chest, "Because I'm saying yes."

His body tenses immediately. He'd forgotten this feeling, consigned himself to a life without it. But now the rush of happiness clouds his vision, forces the breath out of his body, and without her to support him he'd fall. "Really," he asks in a voice reminiscent of the night he asked her if she was sure. A boy on the verge of getting everything he'd never deserved.

"God knows why," she sighs, tears ceasing. She knows, but she'll never explain. She needs him just as much as he needs her. And addiction, obsession, and codependence are things she'll never admit to. Her eyes fall shut as she feels the beat of his heart against her skin. Learn its rhythm, memorizes its beat. She'd be lost without its pattern. Without its existence. Without him. And it's a reality it will take her a life time to accept. But it's a truth all the same.

"But yes. Yes."

**Thanks to TriGemini, lisottina81, pty, City Lights Agleam, Aliennut, 88Mary88, Just me, Comet Tail, tiff xoxo, AquarianAir, wrighthangal, MrChuck, abelard, Courvoisier, Temp02, fiction by cereza, and jamieerin. **


	7. Prompt 7: Dinner

**Prompt 7**

Dinner

She misses him. And it's like a physical ache. It doesn't matter the length of time, months or minutes. She feels each dragging second in the pit of her stomach, a restlessness that can only be quelled by proximity. It used to be insecurity, a distant fear that he would grow complacent in her absence and forget why he loved her in the first place. But gradually, as their time together extended, it became about a loss of familiarity. No longer having a partner in crime or someone to mock prim debutantes with at her mother's insufferable parties.

But he's building an empire, and most of the time she understands. It's just days like today when she tends to get unjustifiably petty. Resents the business trips and meetings that are constantly conspiring to drag them apart.

He is in Paris now and she is standing in Bergdorf's with Serena, trying to pick out a suitable dress for dinner tonight with her mother. Eleanor's in from Milan, and he was supposed to be there as her defense. But duty called. And she's flying solo tonight.

Her cellphone rings while she's in the dressing room, and she answers without looking. Shimmying into a black D&G bandage dress with one hand.

"Good morning," he murmurs into her ear, and she attempts to calculate exactly what time it is in France. Their conversations vary depending on where the sun is situated. But she can't be nice to him right now. Just can't deal with that along with the fake enjoyment she's going to have to feign during dinner.

"I'm busy," she snaps quickly as she assesses herself in the mirror. She's not in the mood for any of his whims. She's stressed and cranky and only half done with her latte. Pleasantries are currently beyond her abilities.

"Sorry to_ bothe_r you," his voice has lost has warmth. And she's a little glad, she was looking for a fight and now she's about to get one.

Her voice is clear, calm. But she doesn't know what she's going to say until it's coming out of her mouth, "Business comes first for you. I get that right now it has to be most important. But excuse me if I don't have the ability to talk every time you're schedule has an opening. I have a life and a job too."

She's gone too far. Realizes it the second she's done speaking. It's not really how she feels. But she's frustrated and lonely and missing him this much after only a day is a little humiliating. His voice is much more careful when he speaks her name, he understands the line she's crossed too, "Blair-"

But she can't make him apologize for his ambition, because it's a mutual trait and nothing to be ashamed of. So she interrupts, "No," she blurts, staring at her pale and sad face in the dressing room mirror, "I'm sorry about that. I'm in a terrible mood. But I still have to go," she takes a breath, and is ashamed that it is shaky. She doesn't know what's gotten into her. After a moment she adds, "I'll call you sometime tonight."

And the click of the phone as she hangs up on him is the loudest thing she's heard all day.

She emerges in a pale pink sheath and nude pumps, hair flowing down her shoulders and cheeks flushed from her recent outburst. Serena appraises her over the edge of her _Cosmo_ magazine. "Perfect," the blonde concludes.

"Far from it," Blair replies under her breath as she twirls, her reflection blurring on all sides.

* * *

><p>"So where's Charles tonight?"<p>

Her mother wastes no time. They've barely taken their seats and already her face is drawn and she stares at her daughter with the ferocity of a lion who's cornered its prey. There will be no mercy, Blair will answer her questions and then suffer the consequences for giving all the wrong answers.

She makes sure to keep her features smooth. She is calm, cool, and collected. And everything else, every bit of disappointment and rage, can be saved for a more appropriate time. The only way to beat a Waldorf woman is to outplay her. And Blair learned from the best. Her smile is bright, her tone carefree, "At a meeting with his French investors in Paris,"

Her mother looks impressed, although she'd probably known Chuck's location all day, "Sounds glamorous." There's a moment of hesitation and then Eleanor leans forward, as if they're gossiping friends, her eyes grasp at intimacy, "Why aren't you with him?"

Blair's grin widens, her first victory. She looks nonchalant as she shrugs, "Because I have to work too."

Her mother's eyes betray a hint of pride, and the woman nods, "Yes you do." She leans back, satisfied. But Blair should know better, there is a beat of silence and then a quick addition, "Is he gone often?"

She's an idiot for letting it take her off guard. Offhandedly she answers honestly, "Yes." Immediately she catches herself, and shakes her head. But it's too late; she's on the defensive immediately, "No." And then, worst of all, a question that will cause nothing but pain, "Why does it matter?"

Her mother reaches forward, hand covering Blair's own gently. Her eyes betray some glimmer of sincerity, however misguided, "I don't want you to live your life lonely. To say that Charles has grown up would be a massive understatement. But he also seems to have traded one extreme for the other, and you seem to constantly be missing him."

She thanks God she wasn't' drinking water, because she has a hard enough time not choking on air. Her eyes are wide as she pleads for silence. She's too old for boy advice. Especially about this boy. Who is so beyond Eleanor's range of comprehension they may as well be in different solar systems. Her voice is high, all breath, "Mother-"

But Eleanor's not done. Not even close, "I know you love him darling, you've proven your loyalty at your own expense. But sometimes it's better to surrender then to fight a battle that's not worth winning. Have you ever thought that what you sacrifice for Charles outweighs what you receive in return?"

Her eyes blaze, catching the candlelight in the dimly lit restaurant, and she wants to cause something physical harm. It's costing her so much control just to sit rigid in her chair, knuckles turning white on her armrests, "Did you invite me to dinner just to attack me?"

"I want to voice my opinion before it's too late. You're twenty five Blair; soon you're going to go from playing house to _building_ a house. And I don't want you to make my mistakes. I don't want you to marry a man who won't be able to love you the way you deserve. Who isn't capable."

Harold and Roman holding hands when she visited them last Christmas. Her mother's sobs behind a locked bedroom door. Her own tears on the night her father decided to stop living his lie. She wants to be deaf. To scream. To be _anywhere_ else. But the memories flash past, they always do. All her worst fears bubbling to the surface in one nauseating surge.

And still Eleanor continues, "You've been entangled with Charles in some way or another since you were a child. And I can't help but wonder how you would have flourished if you'd managed to escape him. Or if you'd grown up in a different environment."

Because that was the problem wasn't it? Her environment. The sickly sweet fakeness of everyone she's ever known. The flawless masks they all have hidden in their back pockets, ready to employ at a moment's notice. She'd been raised to fake it, to hide in plain sight and she'd become exceedingly good at it. The master of her class.

And maybe that is the explanation for her Chuck habit. He had known her without having to ask. Had discovered all the darkest facets of her personality without forcing her to admit to them. In front of him she wasn't ashamed to be plotting or manipulative or afraid, never felt the urge to hide any of it. Because he knew. Had always known. And that, the unquestioning acceptance, the eventual admission that they were in it together, for better or worse, was the most comfort she had ever felt in her false world.

But her mother doesn't know that. Has never really seen her, Blair in true form. Blair for everything she is, the bad and the ugly. But Chuck has, has been there for her best and for her mortifying. And he always will be. She is as sure of that as she is of her mother's permanent displeasure. Because someone who had never been inside her relationship will never be able to view correctly. To understand that the sacrifice is always worth it, when unconditional and indestructible love was the reward.

She has been entangled since childhood. That much is true. And it had taken years for her to understand that embracing didn't mean loss, didn't have to mean pain. It had been difficult. It had been intricate. But she had learned. And so had he. And she wouldn't trade the lessons for the world. Wouldn't give up a single second of her past to secure a new future. Because her life is combustible, it is complicated, but it is genuine. Real enough to hurt and real enough to enjoy without fear. He loves her, another thing her mother doesn't understand. That such a man was capable of so intense an attachment confused so many people. He is always so different when he isn't around her. But she knows, on some level had always known, and that is the only thing that matters.

Her hand is loud against the glass table. The emerald encrusted ring she wears on her right ring finger clangs sharply, and silences her mother just as Eleanor is opening her mouth to continue. "Enough mother," Blair snaps, a demure smile gracing her cherry lips, mask slipping firmly in place, "That's enough."

Her hand is on her bag and her legs flex, pushing her chair back a few inches before her mother reaches forward to grab her hand. Eyes a moment from embarrassment, Eleanor's voice is low, "Blair, we haven't even ordered drinks. Don't make a scene."

Blair rolls her eyes. She'll do cartwheels in this dump if she wants to, "You don't want to spend time with me, mother. You want to indulge in your favorite sport, critiquing my life with the eyes of an indifferent spectator. You have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

There's shock in Eleanor's eyes, but no genuine hurt, "I'm merely stating my opinion-"

Blair cuts her off immediately. She's done with other people's opinions. There are two people in her relationship, and neither of them is Eleanor Waldorf, "_No_, you're attempting to relive your life through me. You've been trying since I was a child."

She continues immediately, eyes starting to gleam, "I'm happy mother. Genuinely, indescribably happy. And I know you don't understand, that you don't respect my relationship or the man I've chosen to spend my life with. But it doesn't change the fact that I've made my decision. That I've chosen Chuck, that I will always choose him, and that I don't regret the past because it brought me to this present. And this, this is where I want to be."

This time she reaches out, gripping her mother's hand tightly, "I love you mother, I always will. No matter if you agree with my life or not. But I need to make it clear, that it_ is_ my life. That these are my decisions and my mistakes. And you can accept them, or you can stop calling."

Her heels click on the marble as she escapes. Face blank and eyes raging, she manages to hold the tears in until she falls into the limo. She wants to go home. Their home. It may be empty now, but he'll get there eventually.

* * *

><p>It's a much shorter wait than originally expected. He's sitting on the couch when the elevator doors separate and reveal their penthouse. Three days early.<p>

He has a glass of scotch in one hand, probably not his first, though he's far from drunk. His dark eyes watch her as she steps across the threshold. But she's not letting him brood. She crosses the room silently, taking a seat across from him on the coffee table, so close their knees touch. She takes the glass from his hands and downs the amber liquid in one gulp. His eyebrow quirks but he doesn't comment.

"What are you doing home," she asks quietly, voice raw from the strong alcohol and fifteen minutes of crying in the car.

He watches her for another long length of time, mouth hard and eyes blank, and then suddenly, "I didn't like what you said over the phone today," he states, reaching forward to touch her face, tilt her chin so she has nowhere to hide, "about the business. It's not _first _and it's not _most_."

It's the wrong thing. She doesn't know why. Normally it would make her melt to a puddle at his feet. But she's mentally exhausted from sparring with her mother. And she's had enough of people telling her what she feels, how she's supposed to see things. She twists out of his grasp and stands, heading to the bedroom. She answers over her shoulder dejectedly, "I only meant that it's important to you. And it should be. My emotional needs pale in comparison to your corporate achievement."

She's attempting to unclasp her bracelet when his arms wrap around her waist, trapping her in place again. His mouth is hot against her neck, and she is torn between crying again or moaning. He's relentless, and they both know he won't stop until he gets what he wants. But he tries the subtle, sweet way one more time; his voice is soft and flutters her hair, "What happened tonight?"

She is tense for the longest time. And the old fear creeps back into his heart. She is the only one capable of hurting him so enormously with the simplest of slights. And every time he waits with baited breath, expecting the inevitable rejection. The loss of her just as he has lost everyone he had formerly held dear.

But she proves him wrong. Has been doing so for years. And with a deep, shuddering breath she leans into him, her whole body relaxing against his hold in a single moment, "Just, my mother." And she does cry then. Again. Because unlike him, she is constantly willing to step back into the line of fire, to expect different results from a woman incapable of change. And she is always ashamed with herself for being surprised at the rejection, a betrayal of the worst kind.

One hand stays against her waist, the other turns her head so he can wipe away her tears. His eyes gleam while hers shimmer, a building fury hiding just underneath the surface. He'll snuff it out though, be content enough to pick up her pieces, "I'm sorry. Fucking Eleanor, I should have known."

"I'm fine," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed so he can't analyze and order her to tell the truth. And that is that she _will_ be fine. She really will. It just takes time. A few days of recovery.

But he knows her better then she thinks, "Liar."

She leans her head forward, so they are inches apart, a breath from touching, "She doesn't understand," he can feel every word against his cheek as she whispers, "She never has."

He takes a deep breath, resolved. Scared shitless but willing to take the leap. The ring slips from his pocket and into her palm in barely a second. And then suddenly his whole world slows, lost in suspension as she gasps, his voice is confident, "Well this should make things clearer."

She holds the ring between them. Eye scrutinizing both of them, their cuts and worth, with an open mouth. "What are you doing?" She murmurs, mind a million miles away. All her worst fears, suddenly nowhere to be found.

"I was planning to ask at dinner when I got back," he shrugs, eyes watching every shifting emotion on her face carefully, "But I miss your smile. So marry me and let's be happy and never talk to your bitter mother ever again."

She sighs. Because there will always be her mother. And his mother. And her father. And his uncle. A million people who think they would be so much better apart. Who will try and try again to make them miserable. To force them to their knees. She twists, arms engulfing him as she buries her face in his chest, "You really think it's that easy?"

His hands twist in her hair nervously. A million different futures dancing in his eyes. He will do anything, be anyone, "We can make it that easy. We can do _whatever_ we want Blair. Name it and you'll have it. Eloping in Paris. Eight hundred at the Plaza. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I want you to be my wife. And I'll do it however you want, as long as you say _yes_."

She closes her eyes. Pictures her life. Miles and miles of distance, hours and days spent apart. He will never be a fixed point. But he can't build his empire without her. Wouldn't want to even if he could. He is her truth. But she is his home. Sooner or later he will always come back.

She traces the hard line of his jaw, and then the soft contours of his eyes, "For better or worse it is."

**Thanks to tiff xoxo, cb4evr345, TriGemini, tinamarie333, City Lights Agleam, nonnie3201, fiction by cereza, Abelard, Temp02, anabella-chair, pty, Krazy007, louboutinlove, lisottina81, thegoodgossipgirl, and loopingread**


	8. Prompt 8: Paris

**Sorry it's taken me so long! I've been very busy enjoying summer. This is another one revolving around the Chuck, Blair, Louie triangle. Again didn't really discuss the potential pregnancy, mostly because I like this prompt better without it.**

**Prompt 8**

Paris

"Sometimes I wonder where I'd be if we'd never met."

They are flying over the ocean as the sun sets, turning the clouds that surround them cotton candy pink. Her mood is decidedly darker, she's in shock. A little ashamed. There are very few words to sum up this moment. This finality she feels. A summer spent apart and now an eternity together. She is a silly girl, and she'd never imagined her fairytale could end so practically. With a sensible lack of evil stepmothers and bloodshed. Although she does suppose he had to cross an ocean. And to wake her up from a deep slumber.

His hands are in her hair, fingering each strand quietly as she leans against his shoulder with her eyes closed. He used to think there was nothing better than a glass of scotch after a long day. He is immensely glad to have been proven wrong. There is _nothing_ better than the weight of Blair Waldorf against him.

"Lost," he answers after a moment of thought, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

She sighs; she's beginning to think he's right. Had been right all along. She tilts her chin, meets his worried mouth half way, and when his hand moves to cup her cheek she laces her finger with his.

And their matching platinum bands shine in the light of the falling sun.

* * *

><p><em>One week earlier<em>

Monaco is beautiful in the summer. Barely any rain and the sun is nearly constant. Her peaches and cream complexion is slowing turning sun kissed, despite the liberal amounts of sun screen she is seemingly constantly applying.

Her engagement ring heats up under the relentless onslaught of rays. And she is persistently playing with the band, attempting to cool it down. Sometimes she takes it off and then spends the better half of her afternoon frantically searching the palace. Louie doesn't notice. He's very busy these days. And for proprieties sake they're relegated to different rooms.

When they do spend time together he is always attentive. Always sweet. And she is overwhelmed with guilt for being so bored. Trapped in a pristine, ivory tower with a man who is constantly trying to understand her, but who never comes close. It is horrible. And she has spent the majority of her time in Monaco feeling absolutely wretched about it.

She doesn't know what's wrong with her. Because there _must_ be something. Doesn't every girl fantasize about being picked by a prince? Isn't a fairytale finish every bride's dream? She is Grace Kelly reincarnate, on the cusp of becoming everything she'd always wanted. More powerful then she'd ever dreamed. And here she is, ready to cry tears of frustration. Of horrifyingly intense disinterest.

So when Serena calls, fresh off a win in California, and proposes a rendezvous in France Blair jumps at the chance. Even though she is well aware he is there as well. Business or pleasure or whatever, she'll manage to avoid him as long as it means a few days of freedom.

Louie smiles as he sends her off in style. She will be gone seven days, shopping and catching up with her best friend. He doesn't know about Chuck. There's no reason to tell him of course. What's the point in needlessly upsetting her already wary fiancé? She won't see him. Refuses to even entertain the idea, especially in her current state. She just needs more time so that she can grow out of her Chuck withdrawals and settle into her mundane, er, cozy life with Louie.

That's what growing up is, she's decided. Picking a path and sticking with it. Committing in every way you can. And she had, that night when he'd given her up. When they'd both decided to go their separate ways. She would marry Louie, and he…well he would figure it out just as she had.

She and Serena are three days into their week of luxury when the blonde gets a call from her former stepbrother requesting a dinner. And Serena tells Blair she doesn't have to go, that she herself will be gone two hours at most. And Blair is fine with it, really she is. That is until two hours before the meal, when she throws on her newest purchase, a gorgeous red cocktail dress and decides to accompany her best friend anyway.

She tells herself it's for curiosities sake, that she wants to catch up. But her skin crawls with anticipation. Butterflies flutter traitorously in her empty stomach. Barely sixty days apart and she's practically itching to even be in the same room again. Like an addict about to get her next fix she is frantic to see him. She hadn't realized how desperate she was until she was faced with the choice. She is the worst kind of liar, because for a while she'd even managed to fool herself.

He looks tired she decides as they enter the beautiful restaurant, like he's been spending too much time at work. His surprise at her appearance is unnoticeable to anyone but her, his eyes shine with shock as he leans in to kiss her cheek. "I didn't know you were in town," he whispers in her ear, holding onto her hip for just a second too long before stepping back like a man in a daze.

"It's not that long a trip from Monaco," she answers as she blinks a few too many times while taking her seat, the way she's been picturing him in her head did no part of him justice, "And I wanted to see Serena."

He nods, and then they move onto lighter topics. Chuck talks about work; he's in town looking for potential buildings for another hotel. Serena talks about her movie. And Blair, well Blair listens mostly, because her practice as a princess in training is dull in comparison to her friend's accomplishments. And the other alternative is Louie. And that doesn't seem wise given her present company.

For most of dinner all is well. And she's beginning to think she can handle this, getting small doses of him at parties and dinners to tide her over. She can live on sighting and small talk as long as he isn't out of her life entirely. That was unbearable. No, she's decided they will be friends. She wants that, she _needs_ that.

But then Serena gets a text. And she is out of her seat like a shot. She mutters something about final cuts on the movie. How her partner is screwing everything up. And then she says those fateful words, 'finish dinner without me.' And she is gone. And its Blair's worst nightmare, caught alone with her villain. The one thing standing between her and her prince.

He smiles, and it's probably one of the few times she's observed Chuck Bass nervous. But given the way her heart is pounding she can't really judge him for it. He takes a long gulp of scotch before muttering, "How's Louie?"

She considers her napkin before answering, "Busy." His lips purse so she adds, "But besides that wonderful."

Chuck nods solemnly and answers, "He's a good man."

And it's awkward and horrible and sad so she fills the silence with mindless chatter. With drawn out descriptions of the palace and the beaches and the heat. And she knows she's talking too fast, that he's looking at her with alarm and a growing suspicion. She's feels like she's unraveling, and that if she can just fill up all her empty space with words she doesn't mean and feeling she's lost neither of them will have time to notice.

But he's known her forever, loved her for just as long, and most of the time he understands her better then he understands himself. She doesn't know why she feels the urge to cry when he lays his hands over hers, only that it feels _so_ good. She'd forgotten, or maybe repressed the emotions he could summon with a single touch. She's fighting a losing battle, but somehow she manages to suppress her tears.

"You're happy," he questions, and his voice is too tortured for such a lovely setting. Because he'd given her up for happiness and nothing less. He'd thought he'd forfeited to a better man, a more deserving man. He'd never imagined it wouldn't be enough, that she'd achieve perfection and still not be satisfied. And so he adds, desperately, "Please just tell me you are."

She hesitates, and that is confession enough. But then she blinks, draws away her hand and lies, "Of course I am." It tastes stale on her tongue but she's sticking to her story. Clinging to her illusion even as it goes down in flames.

"Blair," he starts, reaching for her again. He knows the tricks, and her eyes and mouth are veering in completely different directions. Much like her heart and head.

But her chair is pushing backward before he can get close. Her voice is high, bordering on shrill, "I shouldn't have come." And he'd cause a scene, yell her name until she's forced to turn and face him. But that would only prove her point, they are past his usual shenanigans, and the only way he'll ever get her back is if she comes of her volition.

* * *

><p>Paris is beautiful at night. Everything glows and sparkles. And the last thing such a gorgeous city needs is a brunette in six inch Louboutin's charging through the streets on an escape mission. She is making a fool of herself. But it's only six blocks away from the restaurant that she regains the ability to breath and loses the urge to throw up.<p>

And then she stands there. Stuck. Caught inevitably between two worlds and the two men that live in them. Her perfect prince. And her devious villain. The person she is and the person she tries to be. But she is not a princess, she is a queen. And there has only ever been one city she's wanted to rule over. One man who has ever made her feel worthy of a crown.

And unfortunately he doesn't reside in Monaco. He is sitting at a table in Paris cleaning up her mess. He is flawed and twisted but so is she. And she can play victim well enough for others to believe her, even well enough that she believes it herself. But the truth, as she stands panting in the dark, is that she knows who she is and what she's capable of. She knows that the dark parts inside of her will never change. That she will always be just a little bit destructive. That she will always scheme rather than admit to her contrived desires. And that she accepts that her collateral damage sometimes includes the ruined lives of people.

She is a romantic with a God complex. A powerful woman who needs someone to take care of her, but never to undermine her authority. Someone who can understand the delicate nature of her psyche. But mostly, someone who can tell when she's lying, who can see her insincerity even when she's managed to trick herself.

Her run looks even more ridiculous the second time around.

He is standing in front of the restaurant, fingering a thin cigarette like it is the most interesting thing in the world. But when she stumbles to a halt in front of him he drops the vice to the ground absent mindedly, forgetting it instantly.

She takes a breath, pats her perfect coif to make sure it is still flawless. And then she smiles, it is a little bitter and a little defeated but there is also liberation. And so much hope she practically glows.

She reaches into his jacket pocket, and her grin widens when she finds what she's looking for. Pulling out the box and snapping it open with expectant eyes. Then she looks up at him, a plea and a command on her lips, "Save me."

And it takes him a moment to recover. To realize he isn't hallucinating. But then he does.

He saves her.

Mostly from herself.

* * *

><p>The next morning she returned early to her prince. And handed him back the ring he had so earnestly presented her only a few months ago. He takes it surprisingly well. But he is a good man. And she would have been lucky to marry him. They both knew that. They also both knew that it would have made her utterly miserable.<p>

And so Louie let her go.

She spent the next four days holed up half naked in a Parisian villa with a spectacular view of the city. She ate strawberries and chocolate and drank champagne and laughed and talked and slept. They both ignored calls from their distressed family and friends. And on the fourth night he had made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

They were married in Paris at dawn. Serena had arrived breathless from her hotel, with a flustered grin and a string of tears dripping down her face. Nate somehow managed to fly in last minute from Barcelona, where he had been visiting his spa hopping mother. He spoke very little, only rolled his eyes and muttered something about inevitability.

She had never imagined herself eloping. Marrying without a hint of pomp or circumstance. Her dress is vintage, purchased that morning. He wears a dark shirt that matches his eyes. And it doesn't seem to matter that she's bought shoes more expensive than her wedding, because she's marrying him. Forever. And that's really all that counts.

She cries when the justice of the peace pronounces them man and wife. Another thing she never thought she'd do but can't seem to repress. The tears are happy, this sort of manic joy that's overtaken her ever since she slipped on her second engagement ring and her first wedding band.

* * *

><p>He breaks their kiss, his smile as wide as her own. His thumb brushes her cheek bone as he asks, "So Mrs. Bass, we're hovering over the Atlantic at twenty thousand feet. Where to?"<p>

She sighs again, leaning back against him leisurely, "Take me home."

**Thanks to 88Mary88, MrChuck, fiction by cereza, loopingread, TriGemini, pty, Temp02, louboutinlove, lisottina81, and Arazadia. You're reviews are amazing.**


	9. Prompt 9: Distance

**So obviously I'm the worst. Sorry its been so long! Hope this installment makes up for it.**

**Prompt 9**

Distance

She moved first. That's always been his defense. It was her choice to slide across the car. Close that space between them for good. In the end, who was he to deny her? Especially since he had been looking for that kind of opportunity ever since he realized there was much more fire to Blair Waldorf then ice.

It is loyalty that brings her to the Thai hotel. Most people don't see that side of her. She is much more comfortable with sharp knives and naive backs, but she'd go to war for him. For Serena, for Nate, for the sparse and eclectic collection of people who have managed to steal her pen and write their names on her heart.

It is his thirtieth birthday. An event which he had been planning to celebrate not with the world assumed bang, but with a recently craved whisper. He is rich, richer then her, richer then Bart Bass could have ever dreamed. Even after his recent divorce. The thin gold band he should have known better then to buy sits on his dresser. And he thanks god two years ago he had a good lawyer who had composed a brutal prenup. That the brunette who is currently bribing a Thai maid to open his door had known him well enough to say all the right words.

His wife had been blonde. Ex wife. And that should have been the first clue. She was sweet, almost distastefully so. And for awhile that had been entrancing. She called him baby, which made Blair roll her eyes and feign a choking noise, and he had enjoyed that reaction more then had ever enjoyed the earnest moniker. She had grown up in California, knew nothing about east coast decorum or scheming. And he had loved that. Become obsessed with the way she said exactly what she felt no matter who she was talking to. That she didn't play games because she didn't know how.

After so long acting the dark knight to Blair's queen it had been refreshing. This beautiful blonde who stole his heart not with dark looks and low whispers, but with happy exclamations and bright grins. She was no Blair Waldorf. But as an alternative. As a substitute. He had found her satisfactory. Maybe could have lived like that forever.

But of course not. Not when he was still in New York and so was she.

It was some sort of poetic symmetry. He had ruined her marriage to Louie. Which had been annulled after two months when their indiscretion and its result had come out. She had lost the child. Their child. He doesn't remember much of that week. Except that he had spent a night holding her in a hospital bed. And that after she had taken the rest of the semester off and disappeared to South America with a loyal Serena. Returning right before Christmas with a haunted glimmer in her eye he still catches sight of occasionally when she looks at him for too long. Every so often he dreams of a different future. Of swollen stomachs and children with hyphenated last names.

They don't speak of that loss. Haven't in years. She'd forbidden the subject almost immediately after her return. And it was fine with him. Because when he thought about it. That hope that had tugged at his heart when she'd told about the baby. And in contrast the memory of the hollow brown eyes that had stared at him when his shaking hands had opened that hospital door…the tightening in his throat was nearly unendurable.

In turn, she had ruined his marriage to Elissa. Not with such a flair, she was beyond things like that now, but with the the same dark looks and low whispers that he had been trying to escape. Elissa would tell him everything, but he had never been able to afford her the same intimacy. He had only seemed able to share his secrets with one woman in his entire life.

They are friends now. Because after everything that was inescapable. It was unbearable to even contemplate living without her. And it had been that way for years. This almost physical pull that bound them together inescapably.

The door opens quietly. And he knows it's her before he catches her eye. Broken boy and cold girl connected, dragged together, held together by past and present sins.

"Why Thailand," she wonders to herself as she crosses the room in a few strides and falls across his bed. Hair splaying across his pillow. Her white blouse is tucked into a high waisted, flowing red skirt, she has on matte gold heels. He mentally counts the hours of her flight, how many phone calls she'll have to make to keep her office running in her absence.

"For the beautiful women of course," he says from his spot on the leather chair. Where he's been sitting for two day in an old dress shirt and pants sipping scotch and watching a news program blankly.

"Elissa sacked your apartment about a moment after you boarded your flight," Blair recalls, tucking a fly away behind her ear, "Took everything that wasn't nailed down."

"She can have whatever she wants," he replies. He is not bitter. He knows this is his fault.

In the end his pretty wife had given him an ultimatum. Give up Blair or she would give up him. He would never tell either woman that the choice had ben easy. He'll only ever be sure that he should have known. That even for him marrying another woman when he would always be in love with Blair was too selfish. Too infantile and self absorbed.

And maybe that's what she had learned. Because while Blair was never alone, she had never married again after Louie. Had even rejected the proposal of a wealthy stock broker a few years ago. She had built a company out of nothing. Was now the premiere interior designer of New York City. The baubles Elissa had pilfered from their former home together had been placed there by the clever hands of Blair and her hired minions.

"Your dining set alone cost a small fortune," she grumbles into the Egyptian cotton comforter, hand coming up to trace the intricate stitching absentmindedly.

"I'll buy a new pent house," he responds as he watches her intently, "you can decorate it even more expensively"

Blair sighs, lifting herself up on her elbow to glare at him across the distance. Her voice is earnest but her lips twist into a smirk, "I hated her."

He downs the rest of his glass, "I've hated your last seven."

She grins gamely and quips back vapidly, "Are you committed to that shirt? I can smell you from here."

He rolls his eyes at her, at her complaints. But he can't be mean. Because she cared enough to find him. Because she cares even when he is so far from worth it. So instead he rationalizes, "I've had a few too many drinks to mind."

She sits up, pale legs stretching out and curving back onto the plush carpeting. Her hair falls at odd angles around her face. He knows she has aged, that he has too, but when she looks at him like that all he sees is her at sixteen. Dark curls and dark eyes, about to change both their lives in the back of a limo. She smiles cunningly, "Unfortunately, I can't allow this type of behavior on your birthday."

She stands, skirt whispering around those perfect legs as she stalks towards him. Not annoyed but on the verge of becoming so. He wants to say something kind. Something that will make her smile, make her stay with him here where there are no appearances or people to get in the way. But his head buzzes and his stomach lurches. And none of the right words come to mind, "Blair, in all seriousness-"

She gets to him too fast, soft hands reaching out. "Stand up Chuck," she commands. And he stands of his own volition and without her assistance. Face to face she looks at him sternly, "I flew to this god forsaken country, you will at least take me to dinner."

He wants to tell her what a terrible idea that is. That he isn't in the right state. But saying so would lead to pursed mouthes and separate hotel rooms. And it's too good to see her. It can't end this quickly. A second nature smirk finds his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "My pleasure Waldorf."

* * *

><p>She wears a white sundress to dinner. Her hair pinned up high. And he doesn't know how it happens. Not a clue. But somehow during dinner the stars align and he persuades Blair to drink with him. To get drunk with him.<p>

Alcohol tends to dull her sharp edges. Make her infuriating stubbornness a little more pliable. And it ever so slightly suppresses the electric current that seems to jump through his body whenever their skin so much as brushes. And with this fluke he can make her laugh, wrap an arm around her waist, convince her to turn her phone off and stay out all night with him.

They end up on the beach under the stars. And he sits on a hotel provided chaise as she races the waves. A beautiful cliche as she runs in time with the swells. Laughter bubbly and eyes bright like a child.

He is starting to fall asleep when she appears in front of him. "Unzip me," she commands.

"Excuse me," he questions distractedly, eyes heavy with all the hours he should have been sleeping.

"The water's beautiful," she breathes, wonder a tad uncharacteristic. She hasn't had a proper vacation in years. Can't remember the last time she went swimming. And with the alcohol egging her on she is suddenly desperate to feel the salt water against her skin.

He indulgently pulls down the long zipper hidden under a fold of fabric. Exposing the small of her back to the night air. Recognizing her intentions he warns, "Blair even I know night swimming alone is a bad idea."

"So come with me," she returns, slipping out of her wedges and leaving them discarded in the sand.

His sense of adventure is nil at the moment. He is drawn and has been perpetually intoxicated for what feels like weeks. He wants to fall asleep with the sound of her laugh in his ears, "I don't think so."

She smiles wanly, and if she were sober he would think she was trying to seduce him, "So watch me then." Her dress hits the sand and she takes off running. It takes a moment for him to realize she isn't wearing a shred of underwear. And then he is out of the chair, trailing after her into the water.

He remembers the last time he saw her naked. It had been the night before his wedding. When drinking and reminiscing with her, Nate, and Serena had turned into her alone in his shower. Her under his sheets. And on the morning of his wedding he had woken up with her in his arms.

"Tell me not to," he had whispered into her hair.

She had turned towards him, kissing him sadly on the cheek. And he had known he was about to be disappointed, "Congratulations Chuck."

She had sat in the pew between Serena and Eric. Head held high when he said I do. He knows better now. Should have known better then. He had seen what marrying Lily had done to his father. What it was like to love someone who could never return the sentiment correctly. It was a punishment no one deserved. Least of all a woman he had cared enough to propose to.

"What are you doing Waldorf," he asks when he finds her in the water. Treading the surface, face lit up under the full moon.

Her face is conflicted and he wants to reach out and touch her. But he's deathly afraid she will pull away. She briefly allows her gaze to rest on him. "Serena says I shouldn't have let you marry her," she confides in a whisper.

He groans. His blonde, blissfully married sister is the last person he wants to talk about at this particular moment, "I don't care what Serena says."

She lets out a deep breath, and he can feel the current her legs created as they pinwheel, "It was easier when you were married."

He catches her calf, pulls her close until the only natural thing is for her arms to wrap around his neck. "For you maybe," he points out, his lips pressed to the shell of her ear.

"This was a bad idea," she mumbles against his throat even as her legs come to wind along his hips. Something between a gasp and a moan escapes her when he uses his mouth and then his teeth to mar the skin of her perfect, exposed neck.

"Actually I think this one of your best yet Blair," he argues into the skin just under the curve of her jaw, smiling lecherously when he adds, "I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself."

"You're drunk," she manages to counter before he tilts her chin just right and finds her mouth with his own. He's trying to decide how many steps and how much protest he will have to endure to get her to the lounge chair. Where he can lay her bare and see every inch of her.

He's still deciding when the stupid words dart from his mouth. In his nostalgic haze of drunkenness, just a little too sentimental said an inch from her lips as she draws in a breath, "I miss you when I'm sober too."

* * *

><p>He remembers the hours they spent on the beach very clearly. Down to the most obscure detail. But he can't recall how they got back to the hotel room. Only that the sun was threatening to break the horizon when they toppled atop the fresh sheets.<p>

They awaken like that. His head pounding dully against his skull. Her dress is only half zippered and her bare leg is curled over him, forehead pressed against his arm. She wakes up surly and sore. "That's the last time I let you convince me of the merits of tequila," she groans as she lifts her heavy head, "God knows what diseases we picked up, or how long it will take to get all the sand off my body."

He smirks up at her, feeling like a weight has been lifted from his chest, "You weren't complaining last night."

"I didn't know my own name last night," she shoot back, hand moving to clutch her aching forehead.

He smiles wryly, "You're welcome darling."

She looks at him reproachfully before her resolve cracks and a smile breaks through, "You're horrible." Her head falls back down to the bed, now resting on his shoulder. And he kisses the top of her head.

They lay like that comfortably until he can't stand it anymore. "I shouldn't have married Elissa," he admits suddenly. In a serious tone even though his hair is thick with sea salt and he's more then a little hung over, "You should have told me not to and I should have known myself."

It's too early for this conversation in her opinion, "Chuck-"

It's too late though, he's finally figured it out, "It should have been you. It always should have been you."

"We were young," she rationalizes, eyes heavy with past mistakes and missed opportunities, "We wanted different things." She sits up, heart pounding erratically. Horribly. Last night's alcohol threatening to bubble up her throat.

"And now?" He questions, forcing himself to stand when she does, her body rigid as she crosses her arms over her chest, "I think we've spent enough of our lives apart."

There is only a foot between them, but it might as well be miles. "It'll end badly," she answers with her eyes closed, "It always does."

He reaches out, using the skirt of her dress to pull her closer. Her eyes still remain on anything else but him as he explains, "Ten years ago it ended badly. Because we were playing at adults and had no idea what we were doing. When the baby-"

She reaches out suddenly, fingers gripping his arm tightly. "Don't," she hisses.

"I shouldn't have let you run away then," he exclaims, refusing to let go of her, clinging to the fabric of her dress like a lifeline, "Or any of the other dozen times you've done it since. It should have ended a long time ago. But I'll settle for now."

There is a quiet. A silence that drags as they stand together in dirty clothes with sticky hair hanging clumps. They are a mess. Her jaw is clenched, trying to suppress the war in her head. He is empty, waiting for her to close the distance. Change their lives yet again.

Her hands find his, tracing up his arms to his shoulders and locking behind his neck as she takes a step forward and folds back into him. There are tears in her eyes and she doesn't know why, "Are you sure?"

He tilts her chin and kisses her an answer.

**Kind of inspired by the impending season premiere. Although I'm more then a little nervous. How many horrible Chair situations are we going to have to endure this time?**


End file.
